


in the shadow of thy wings

by addict_with_a_pen



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe- Armageddid (Good Omens), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Apocalypse, Armageddon, Four Horsemen, Good Omens Angst, M/M, Protective Crowley, Self-Sacrifice, in the shadow of thy wings, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addict_with_a_pen/pseuds/addict_with_a_pen
Summary: what if armageddid?





	in the shadow of thy wings

The silence. 

Oh, the deafening silence, it was alive, it was alive and it was in pain. It howled and thrashed and twisted and screamed, writhing in agony and filling the battlefield like how red wine fills a glass. 

Only in this case, it wasn’t a lazy, swirling wineglass. It was more of a harsh, indifferent Molotov cocktail. 

The silence curled through the place like smoke. It smothered the cold starlight drizzling from the abandoned sky, it drowned the cries of the wounded and dying, and it carried away the fallen and Fallen alike like how a hawk snatches up a helpless kitten. It moved in ways that silence should not, and it made the battlefield feel as though it had been torn roughly away from the universe and shoved aside into a different dimension.

It felt that way because that was exactly what had happened.

Well. 

_ Almost _exactly. The battlefield had stayed where it was. The observer of the battlefield was the one who’d been torn away and shunted aside.

The Molotov cocktail was hefted by an invisible hand, a hand unknowing of what it was lifting and ignorant of what power it was wielding. 

The cocktail exploded, and the silence was shattered.

_ Angel. _

He took an unsteady step forward, wondering where the battle had gone. One minute he had been fighting for his life, wings outstretched to shield himself from his opponent’s blows and his weapon a screaming blur of holy fire, and in the next he had found himself here with the silence.

Now the silence was dead.

_ Angel… _

The voice that had killed it spoke once more. It was a familiar word spoken by a familiar voice. 

He called to the voice, but something told him that while the silence_ here _ may be dead, it still lurked sullenly and dangerously beyond wherever _ here _ was. He sensed it seize his cry, could feel it as it dragged it away to die in the seas of oblivion. 

He knew that it was vain and yet he called out anyway. He knew that the owner of the voice that had killed the silence inside would never hear him over the raging, merciless monster that was the silence outside, but he had to try nevertheless.

As he thrust his cries into the void like releasing white doves at a shooting range, the silence convulsed and shuddered. It clambered back to its thornclawed feet and let out a mighty roar. It slashed open the sky, it swallowed his words, and it howled as the sky bled.

From the tear in the night bled a shadow. 

The shadow had wings made from the velvet twilight, wings that cut through the very fabric of creation. Through the feathers of liquid darkness shivered the trembling and scintillating lights of what could have been stars, but the way they shone proclaimed them to be perhaps something else entirely.

The shadow dripped down in what might have been all of eternity crammed into a half-moment and fixed eyes fashioned from chasms of infinite nothingness upon him.

The silence was undead, it was whole and yet broken, it was there and yet was not. The silence was the shadow’s voice and yet it was absent from its words. 

THERE IS ONE MORE THAT I MUST TAKE, said Death, sending ripples through the silence like the surface of a pond disturbed by raindrops, BUT I THOUGHT I WOULD GRANT YOU SOME TIME. SPEND IT WISELY, AZIRAPHALE.

The shadow that was Death spread its wings, and the imitating stars that howled insanely behind the feathers grew brighter. They grew brighter and at the same time they consumed all the light left in the deserted battlefield, until all that remained was the inhuman blaze and the unending darkness extending around him. 

The shadow beat its wings a single time, and the silence laughed as the light abandoned the darkness...


End file.
